


heart breaker

by lavender (yestoday)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Boys In Love, Established Relationship, I wrote this in one night, M/M, Traveling the world, vague plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:03:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yestoday/pseuds/lavender
Summary: Mark travels the world searching for a home, without realizing he’s had one all along. Donghyuck waits.





	heart breaker

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by donghyuck’s line in the chorus of heartbreaker by nct 127! i had that on repeat while i wrote this out in like,, one night

_i don’t know where you’ll go next. i can’t figure out your heart. but i like you more and more._

* * *

Seoul is a beautiful city.

This is a fact, one that Mark’s always known in the back of his mind, like an old scar that hasn’t quite faded. Seoul, with its twinkling lights and towering skyscrapers and uniquely undeniable charm that beckons to Mark every time he stops to turn back.

And he doesn’t turn back very often, but when he does, Mark is struck with a kind of sudden ache in his chest. It feels like a hole that can’t be filled, but he doesn’t have time to ruminate, he’s got a flight to Paris in two hours.

This is just how life is. Mark runs and runs, always on his feet, always going someplace new to have new experiences and learn new cultures and meet new people. His body survives on pure adrenaline at this point, and Mark loves it.

He doesn’t think much about consequences or side effects or aftershocks. Mark just keeps going.

Seoul has beautiful people.

This is a fact, too, and it’s an obvious one. Seoulites are perfectly pretty packages, bundled up tight in their fair skin and painted lips and carefully applied makeup. They stand tall and proud, like they know how intimidatingly beautiful they are, mouths curling upward like wisps of smoke.

They don’t speak out of turn, don’t ever show anything more than a blankly polite facade on their faces, don’t charge straight at life with no plan and not a care in the world.

Donghyuck does, though, and perhaps that makes a little bit of sense because Donghyuck was born and raised in Jeju, and only moved to Seoul in his twenties.

Donghyuck is beautiful too, but in a different way. He’s precious warmth and brilliant smiles and pretty eyes full of mirth, he’s golden skin and soft, soft lips mouthing at Mark’s skin, setting a trail of blazing fire where he kisses. Donghyuck smells like minty chocolate, tastes like sweet soda and sometimes fruity alcohol when Mark comes back after too long.

Donghyuck yawns a lot when he’s sleepy. He likes watching cheesy rom-coms and animes with sprawling episode lists. He’s the best chef Mark knows, and Mark has eaten in restaurants all over the world. Donghyuck cuddles up to Mark and steals the blankets and doesn’t ever let go of his hand the entire time they’re sleeping, their fingers tightly woven together like the strings of a promise.

But promises can be broken, and in the morning Mark unravels their hands and disappears into the wintry Seoul streets. He’s on a flight to Perth by the time Donghyuck wakes up.

* * *

Mark has a home, technically speaking.

It’s in the suburbs of Canada, nestled into the countryside, plainly ordinary. It’s a far cry from bustling pavements of New York City and the crowded trains in Singapore and even the quaint little tea shop in Venice that Mark stumbles into an hour after touching down, jet lagged and in severe need of caffeine.

Canada is home, sure, in the sense that all his family members are there and Mark always makes sure to send a postcard from wherever he is. It’s home, in the way that means Mark has a Canadian passport and visits at least twice a year and calls every week.

But it’s not home in the way that Seoul is home. That might have something to do with the fact that even though Mark isn’t particularly attached to the city, Seoul has Donghyuck and Mark is terribly attached to Donghyuck.

He’s fond of watching Donghyuck when he cooks, wrapping his arms around the younger’s waist and resting his chin on Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck always laughs and chides him for being distracting, but Mark finds he likes the melodic tinkle of Donghyuck’s laugh.

Mark sits at a reputable cafe in Barcelona and thinks, it’s not the same. The food is good, yes, but so is Donghyuck’s and the latter comes with the added bonus of watching Donghyuck putter around the kitchen, skilled hands reaching for pots and pans and utensils, while Mark drops kisses along the side of his neck.

“Stop that,” Donghyuck giggles, swatting at Mark with his spatula. “You’re gonna make me burn the rice.”

Mark simply hums and starts mouthing at Donghyuck’s jawline. Donghyuck calls him impossible, but it’s full of affection, enough to make Mark’s heart wrench in his chest.

Mark has tasted various strange delicacies in small countries all around the world. He’s sat at a tiny stall in Hong Kong, the fumes of stinky tofu permeating the air around him. He’s watched roadside vendors spoon heaps of spaghetti into a takeaway cup, scoop ice cream between slices of pink and green bread, carve edible art out of paper-thin sheets of gelatin.

But nothing quite compares to the plain old homemade fried rice that Donghyuck feeds him, sitting comfortably on Mark’s lap while the TV plays softly in the background, the accompaniment to their grand burlesque.

* * *

Donghyuck owns a bakery in the heart of Seoul, and the rent is so expensive but Donghyuck pours his everything into the place.

When they were younger and the bakery was still tiny, still struggling, Mark would come by in the afternoons and sit nursing a cup of coffee, watching Donghyuck work the register and greet customers with his patented sunny smile, arms dotted with flour.

Mark would go to small, out-of-the-way towns in France and Italy and Spain, where they made special kinds of bread and pastry, and (if the owners allowed him, of course) he’d bring the recipes back to Donghyuck.

The passion which Donghyuck holds for baking and the culinary arts in general astounds Mark. Donghyuck would bounce on his feet in excitement and anticipation, while Mark teases the reveal of the new recipe.

”Hurry up!” Donghyuck would whine and pout, clutching at Mark’s sleeve.

Mark would chuckle and hand it over, because he can’t resist Donghyuck when he’s like this. “I’m beginning to think you love me only for the recipes.”

Donghyuck sticks his tongue out in reply, immature and so, so adorable. “And you only love me for my cooking.”

”Untrue,” Mark insists, pulling Donghyuck close and tasting the sweetness of the strawberry tart he’d eaten for lunch on his tongue.

Donghyuck smiles and Mark can feel it against his mouth, so tempting. He pulls away, rests his forehead on Donghyuck’s and catches his breath.

”Untrue,” Donghyuck echoes, still smiling, chasing Mark’s lips.

* * *

The sparkle of Las Vegas captivates Mark.

Life here is vastly different from anywhere else he’s been to. This is where rich people come to make mistakes, where law and order fade away into the background, where everything that happens stays a well-kept secret between you and the city.

It’s here that Mark falls in over his head and drinks too much and breathes in heady smoke, his head spinning from all the new sensations.

It’s in Las Vegas where Mark forgets anything and everything, slipping under the covers of his luxurious hotel bed with a stranger mouthing at his neck. Come morning, the stranger is gone, and Mark revels in the feeling of being left behind for once, instead of the other way around.

His phone rings. The caller ID tells him it’s Donghyuck, and Mark suddenly feels like throwing up. So he does, tossing the sheets away from his body and rushing into the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet bowl.

The phone keeps ringing, and eventually, it stops.

When Mark leaves to catch a flight to Vietnam in the afternoon, he doesn’t take his phone with him.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’ll send a postcard to his family with his new contact details, and as for Donghyuck… well, Mark memorized every digit of his number a long time ago.

* * *

Mark started traveling after he’d graduated from college with a degree in, fittingly enough, international development.

It had started out of interest and a niggling travel bug that just wouldn’t go away, and besides Mark’s family comes from old money. He hasn’t had any expectations of him since the day he was born, and maybe that’s why Mark finds it so easy to leave.

Then it became something like a spiritual journey to find himself, as all trips around the world tend to morph into after a while. And then, it turned into Mark seeking the thrill of discovering a new place, a new city and a new country altogether, and maybe seeking something else entirely while he’s at it.

The first place he’d gone to, after returning to Canada for a quick visit, was London. He’d always wanted to experience the dreary gray drizzle of Britain, the cobbled pavements and the beautiful architecture.

After that, Mark went everywhere and anywhere.

And then he returned to Seoul.

Donghyuck had cried when he’d picked Mark up from the airport. “I missed you, you idiot,” he’d sniffled, desperately trying to pretend like tears weren’t spilling from his eyes.

Mark had wrapped him in a hug and didn’t let him go, not even when he flew to Switzerland the following week. Because Mark always goes back to Donghyuck, every single time.

Donghyuck would like Japan, Mark thinks. He would love chasing cherry blossoms in the springtime, watching them bloom into beauty. He would marvel at the vending machines which dispensed literally anything ever invented in the history of mankind. Donghyuck would buy hundreds of little trinkets he could bring back home to display on his shelves proudly, like spoils of war, and then he would pull Mark into a capsule hotel room meant for one person and smile coyly up at him and say, “Well, we should save money, shouldn’t we?”

Then Mark remembers that he hasn’t spoken to Donghyuck in two weeks, and the realization threatens to crush him.

It’s his own fault. His fault for being so completely stupid, caught up the allure of Las Vegas’ neon lights, and it’s all Mark’s fault for cutting off contact with Donghyuck. This is his own doing.

He’s got Donghyuck’s number saved in his new phone, but he hasn’t had the guts to use it. He doesn’t deserve to, Mark thinks. Donghyuck deserves everything good in the world.

He shouldn’t have to put up with Mark, who flies around so much he sometimes forgets what it’s like to have stable ground under his feet, who can’t quite seem to stop moving for fear of the status quo, who isn’t good enough for beautiful wonderful Donghyuck.

Donghyuck deserves better, because he’s perfect. He’s the best thing to ever happen to Mark, and Mark is just a fool in love.

* * *

Mark thinks that maybe part of the reason why he travels so much is because he still hasn’t found a place where he fits in.

It’s awfully idealistic of him, to believe that there’s a place out there where Mark feels like a puzzle piece sliding into place, completing the picture, but he’s always been a little bit of a romantic.

Donghyuck used to laugh at him, teasing. “Romantic? You wouldn’t know romantic if it hit you in the face, Mark Lee.”

Mark surprises him the next day with breakfast in bed, a bouquet of pink carnations and a guitar serenade. Donghyuck kisses him and doesn’t mention it again.

Mark searches and searches, but he never manages to find what he’s looking for. It’s tough, especially since he doesn’t even know what he’s looking for. He feels like he’s a lost teenager again, cluelessly mapping Donghyuck’s body with his hands and mouth and teeth, tracing his freckles like they’re constellations in the night sky, staring in wonderment while Donghyuck giggles and tells him he’s cute.

It’s always been Donghyuck soothing him, knowing just the right words to say, the right things to do so Mark will stop overthinking things. Maybe that’s why Mark always returns to Donghyuck’s side.

Maybe Donghyuck is the puzzle piece adjacent to Mark, the two of them made perfectly to fit together, to always connect with each other in the midst of the bigger picture. Maybe Donghyuck fills that hole in Mark’s chest, maybe Mark belongs in Donghyuck’s tiny little living room, curled up on the sofa with their fingers locked together and their hearts beating as one.

Maybe Donghyuck is Mark’s home, and he’s just never realized it.

* * *

He flies back to Seoul in the summer, and somehow his body works on autopilot until he ends up in front of Donghyuck’s familiar door.

Mark hasn’t been here for months. He hasn’t spoken to the owner of the apartment for what feels like a decade, when in reality it’s been about seven and a half weeks, because Mark is counting.

He thinks about using the spare key Donghyuck had gifted him on his birthday, packaged with a shiny blue ribbon looped through the keyring and a secretive smile. “So you can… surprise me.” Donghyuck had laughed, and he’d looked gorgeous.

Mark recognizes that Donghyuck might not be in the mood for a surprise, right now. He puts the key away, the blue ribbon still hanging on to it by a thread.

He rings the doorbell, and hears footsteps pattering behind the door. Donghyuck never checks his peephole, so it’s not shocking that when the door swings open, he’s still grinning warmly, a bright pink ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron slung around his neck.

It takes a second for everything to register, but oh when it does, things go to shit. Donghyuck screams and yells and throws his wooden spoon at Mark, calling him every bad name under the sun while Mark hurries to close the door behind him so nosy neighbors can’t listen in.

Donghyuck collapses onto the couch and starts crying, sobbing into his hands uncontrollably. He’s so out of it that he doesn’t even protest when Mark wraps his arms around him and pulls him close, just paws weakly at Mark’s touch before allowing it with a sniff.

“I hate you,” Donghyuck mumbles after some time has passed and Mark can smell burnt food from the kitchen.

“I love you,” Mark answers, simple and honest, and Donghyuck’s face crumples again.

“No you don’t!” He wails, misery evident in his tone. It tugs at Mark’s heartstrings, hard enough to make it hurt, and Mark distantly thinks he deserves it anyway.

“If you really did, you wouldn’t have just,” Donghyuck wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, lips quivering, “You wouldn’t have just dumped me! Not a word! Complete radio silence! I was so worried, you fucking idiot.”

Mark doesn’t know what else to do, so he just runs his fingers through Donghyuck’s hair and pets him gently and mumbles ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ into Donghyuck’s soft skin until the younger stops his heaving sobs and muttered curses.

“This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven,” Donghyuck mumbles, curling into Mark’s touch and nuzzling his face into the crook of Mark’s neck.

“I don’t expect to be,” Mark says, the corner of his lips quirking up despite himself. “I’m an idiot.”

Donghyuck snorts, but then he looks at Mark with eyes so fond it makes Mark feel dizzy. It makes Mark feel warm, and comfortable, and at home. “Yes, you are.”

* * *

Mark tells Donghyuck about Vegas eventually. It goes over much better than he’d expected, considering Donghyuck doesn’t dump his sorry ass and chase him out of the apartment immediately.

“Well, at least you came back to me in the end,” Donghyuck huffs, swinging their interlocked hands between them as they walk along the pavement to the grocery store.

Donghyuck wants to make cookies, and sushi, and paella, and beef stew. He asks what Mark wants, but Mark is just content to watch Donghyuck as he flits around the kitchen.

“I always come back to you,” Mark squeezes Donghyuck’s fingers, silent reassurance. “Even if I don’t deserve you.”

Donghyuck snorts. “Funny word, isn’t it? ‘Deserve’. Subjective, I think.”

He squeezes Mark’s hand back. Silent reassurance.

* * *

Mark doesn’t leave, and Donghyuck expresses his surprise.

“Isn’t there anywhere else you want to go?” He asks one night when they’re both pressed against each other, tangled up in bed. Mark hums, and it vibrates against Donghyuck’s skin.

“Yes,” he muses, because he’s thought about this long and hard, and there is an answer.

“I don’t mind, you know,” Donghyuck tells him, quiet and plaintive. “I’ll wait for you to get back.”

“You always do,” Mark dips his head down to press an affectionate kiss to Donghyuck’s forehead. “But I think seeing the world would be nicer with you next to me.”

Donghyuck laughs, and it echoes around the room. “Oh? In what way? I’m a horrible airplane buddy,” he teases lightly.

And Mark ends up telling him. Everything he’s ever thought about in regard to bringing Donghyuck along on his travels, holding Donghyuck’s hand while they wait to board the plane, visiting rural areas only accessible by hour-long bus rides together, purchasing cheesy little couple items and wearing them with pride.

At the end of it, he asks Donghyuck to come to Japan with him in the spring.

”I’d have to leave the bakery,” Donghyuck muses, and Mark expects it, because he knows how much Donghyuck loves the place and he’d never want to pull him away from it.

He’s about to tell Donghyuck it’s fine, Mark will stay wherever Donghyuck is, building a home and a life together.

But then, Donghyuck shrugs and says, “Well, if the love of my life is going, I suppose I _could_.” And he shares a smile with Mark.

It’s genuine, and content, and perfect.

 

**Author's Note:**

> edit: i added the bakery part because it really bothered me when i realized donghyuck didn’t have a job  
> [requests!](http://www.curiouscat.me/cherrycity)


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